


Ugly Duckling

by GrimTamlain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Light BDSM, Not Canon Compliant, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26396572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimTamlain/pseuds/GrimTamlain
Summary: Doctor Stiles Stilinski was a good girl.She left a prolific private practice in San Francisco to open a clinic in her hometown after her father had a heart attack. Since her mother had died, she had always taken care of him and this was no exception.Coming back to town, she runs into a crush from high school—star quarterback, class president, now local Constable Jackson Whitmore—old feelings return and a rumor comes out that he’s looking for a good time, but little ‘Spazinski’ doesn’t qualify.Enter Derek Hale, gorgeous bad-boy and one-night-stand legend, agreeing to a deal to oil her skills. Will she be able to win the heart of the golden boy, or fall for the maverick?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Stiles Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf. I just very much greatly admire the dynamic between Stiles and Derek.
> 
> I started writing this because I wanted to write a novel, but dealing with the intricacies of the Sterek dynamic made it easier for me.
> 
> In this, Stiles has ALWAYS been a female; Derek is also only 4 years older than Stiles.

Stiles never thought that she would come back to her hometown, let alone come back to find it unchanged. She stood outside the diner, still decked out in bright yellows and blues, the neon duck of the sign shorted out. She closed her eyes behind her sunglasses, repressing a shiver at the gaudiness of the Ugly Duckling diner, pushing the door open and cringing at the honk that sounded, the novelty ‘bell’ something that old Edna Dorce _loved_ over the regular bells. What the Ugly Duckling diner had in gaudy decorations and cliché’s, the great food more than made up for it. She sat down on a stool at the bar, placing her purse on the counter beside her, her bright pink stethoscope sticking out of the top. She glanced at it fondly, it had been wrapped up in a clashing red bow when her father had handed it to her at her Medical School graduation.

“What’s your poison, sugar?” Edna Dorce rasped at her, the quality of her voice due to the ever present cigarette that hung from her lips—surprisingly absent at the moment.

“Three eggs over-easy, brown toast, bacon—crispy, like almost burnt—”

“ _Spazinski?_ ” The deep baritone of a voice colored in shock was almost welcome. The childhood nickname? Not so much. Stiles glanced over her shoulder to see Jackson Whitmore, the crush of her entire school career. Her heart jumped into her throat as she took in his signature blonde curls, the ever-present twinkle of his brown eyes and—shockingly attractive—Police uniform. Her face flushed pink, no longer as shocking as it was when she was an awkward teenager due to actually enjoying the glories of the Californian sun, and she tucked her brown hair behind her ears.

“Hey, Jackson,” she murmured, unable to meet his gaze as her eyes took in the way his muscles looked in the dark blue uniform. She licked her lips, letting out a little giggle. “I guess it’s Constable now, isn’t it?”

“Oh, sugar, Albert will be so happy to see you!” Edna crowed, realizing, with the nickname, who she was serving. Knowing the matron, the rest of her order was memorized, including the 2 pancakes with blueberry syrup, coffee with milk and a large orange juice. She had been ordering the same thing for as long as she could remember, a meal her mother always had as well. She took a breath in and released the memory, before turning her attention back to gorgeous man beside her.

“I thought you had left to become a big shot doctor?” he said, settling into the stool on her left, pushing the menu to the side, his entire attention on her. She was flustered, he always managed to have this effect on her with much less focus, but this was almost too much.

She smiled at Edna as the woman brought her drinks, taking a large gulp of orange juice to relieve the dryness of her mouth. “I have— _had_ —a practice in San Francisco. Moved it down here,” she pointed across the street at the Memorial Clinic across the street from the diner, “We officially open back up on Monday, I was just taking a break from getting things set up.”

“I knew you’d do great things, Spazinski,” he said grinning, exchanging a bill for his to-go coffee, winking sweetly at Edna. The older woman brushed him off, a fond smile pulling her lips up and he stood up, resting his hip against the counter. He touched her shoulder, the heat of his palm sending heat straight to her face, short-circuiting her brain, wiping all thought from it. He patted her shoulder then pulled his shades from their spot hanging on his vest placing them on his nose. “I’ll see you around, Doctor Spazinski. Keep safe.”

_Gods_ , but she hated that damned nickname. She watched him leave, then turned towards her food that Edna had just placed in front of her. “Doctor _Stilinski_ ,” she grumbled, as she dipped her toast in runny yolks of her eggs. As she ate her brunch, a group of women that she vaguely recognized walk in, taking over the corner booth to her right. The beautiful redhead on the outer edge of the booth let out a squeal laugh, as one of the brunettes showed off an engagement ring—and then Stiles recognized her: Lydia Martin, head cheerleader and Jackson’s high school girlfriend. She had always envied the curly red locks that framed her heart-shaped face; Stiles had always had pin-straight brown hair, without any volume or life. But she did remember that Lydia was as generous, she had always been nice to her, despite Stiles’ crush on her boyfriend at the time.

Edna walked by and topped off her coffee, grabbing her attention. Then she inhaled the sip of coffee when she heard Lydia’s voice say something completely obscene. “Jackson had always wanted things _rough_ ; he was my first, but he wanted some _wild_ things.” The other girls let out hysterical screams, before bursting into laughs and giggles. “Shut _up_ ,” she giggled back, throwing a napkin across the table.

Stiles froze, flushing from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes at the implications. Lydia couldn’t keep up with, what? A few kinks? She may not have a lot of experience herself, but what could be so scary about it? Her mind churned as she thought about what she had just heard, crunching through her bacon, nodding her head. She was a great student—she could use this as her way to finally prove to Jackson that she was what he wanted.

She finished her brunch, dropping some cash onto the counter, grabbed her purse and left the diner, making her way across the street, coming to a decision. She just needed to find a teacher.

The Memorial clinic was almost as old as the town itself, but it had been remodeled when she had purchased the building. The front of the building was still the antique red brick that made up most of the buildings on the street, but the office in the back had been refurbished with larger windows, the pastel blue walls casting a dreamy glow around the room. The renovation had changed the entirety of the inside: it no longer resembled the clinic from her childhood. It was _exactly_ how she had fantasized her own practice looking, down to the tiniest detail.

Stiles finished sorting out the desk, leaning back with a satisfied smile. She wished she had been able to uproot her intern from San Francisco and bring them down with her—they had been such a gift. They had known exactly what she had wanted, when she wanted it, in the exact order that she wanted—she would never find someone like them. She brushed her hand through her hair, ruffling it to the side as she relaxed in the chair, thinking about missing out on the fast pace of the practice she shared with seven other doctors. She was going to miss being able to work with other doctors, but it was a necessary move, what with her father—

_BANG! BANG!_

The front door shook with the force of the knocks pounded against it, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. She frowned, standing up, seeing the shadow of a body leaning against the door through the fog glass. The door shook again with another knock causing her to rush to the door, regretting her choice of heels. _Who wears heels to organize?_ She scolded herself, swinging the door open.

“We’re not open until Mo— _ohmygod_!” The first thing she saw was the bleeding bullet wound in the man’s arm, shoving the door open all the way and helping him inside. She rushed him to her office, making him lay down on the table. “We need to get you to the hospital—”

“Come _on_ , Spazinski. Break the rules for once.” the dark timber causing her to freeze in place, fingers suddenly numb, her phone sliding from her hand back onto the desk. She turned to look at the man, knowing _exactly_ who would say that to her.

“ _Derek Hale_ ,” she breathed, causing him to smirk at her. His green eyes were bright against the black of his hair, the addition of the beard scruff making him look even more rugged than when he was nineteen, sneaking his many girlfriends into the dive the next town over. His white shirt was stained with his blood, but his muscles stretched the fabric, ruining it in a different way—at least it would not be a complete shame to have to cut the shirt away.

She frowned, pursing her lips, as she grabbed gloves from the dispenser and snapped them onto her wrists, watching as his smirk grew into a grin. She sat down on her stool, sliding it towards him, snagging the medical tray on her way. She used the scissors to cut the sleeve of his shirt away, hesitating an instant before she touched his skin. She cleaned the wound, carefully and grabbed the local anesthetic, clearing her throat. She hadn’t seen Derek since she had left for college; since she had turned sixteen, they had been inseparable. She still couldn’t understand why he wanted to hang out with a teenager, but her father had never had an issue with it, so she had considered him to be her best friend.

“What happened?” Her voice was steady, soft, pulling his gaze away from the needle to focus on her gentle smile.

His grin was flirty, faltering a bit when the needle went into his skin. “Same old thing,” he said, a cocky wistfulness making him stare up at the ceiling. “Miss Right-Now forgot to mention she was Greenburg’s baby mama.”

Stiles laughed, using the pickups to pull out the bullet fragments. “How’d he get a gun? He could never pass a test before!”

“I know!” he laughed, exaggerating his features. He sobered, a smirk still pulling at his lips, his intense green eyes focused on her, reaching a hand up to brush her hair behind her ear, leaning forward “I’d let him shoot me again if it meant I’d have your hands on me.”

She blew a raspberry, turning to give him a droll smile, faltering with his lips so close to hers. “With bullshit lines like that, I’m starting to think _she_ shot you.”

“That hurts, Spazinski,” he groaned, clutching at his heart, the smirk never leaving his face.

“ _Stiles_ ,” she growled, cutting the excess thread more aggressively than she meant to. She taped gauze to the wound, wrapping a bandage violently around his bicep, huffing out a breath, adding, “Or Doctor Stilinski.”

When she finished, he sat up, ripping the rest of his shirt off, tossing it neatly into the trashcan behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back so that he had her cornered against the desk, picking her up easily and settling her on the birch desk. She sucked in a breath, feeling it catch in her chest as he stepped between her legs, his hands resting on the edges of the wood his lips above hers, green eyes intense as he gazed at her. She felt heat flush through her entire body, arching her back as she leaned back on her hands. Her eyes kept jumping from the vibrancy of his eyes to his lips, before settling on the latter when he licked his lips, grinning. Swooping in, he placed a kiss on her cheek, pulling away and walking towards the door.

“Whatever you want, Doctor Stilinski,” he murmured, a growl deepening his timber. “I owe you breakfast in the morning—Duckling, the ushe?”

She nodded, breathless, flustered beyond belief, waving her hand at him. He chuckled, patting the door jam as he left the office.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles Stilinski is, and always has been, a good girl.

It was a mantra he had been telling himself over and over since she had been sixteen. Except back then, it was more about her age: being four years older than her had made it wrong then. That blouse she was wearing was unbuttoned to the point that he should have been able to see the outline of her bra if she had been wearing one. Her snarky smile was familiar, almost nostalgic, but the knowledge that a thin material separated his gaze from her nipples turned it into a sensual taunt.

He didn’t know what possessed him to crowd her like that—what was he thinking, of _course_ he knew what had possessed him. That taunting smirk matched with the glimmer in her amber eyes—the coltish awkwardness of her teen years was drowned out by this new confidence found in adulthood.

“Derek, wait.” He had just opened the door when her voice stopped him. He turned to look at her, eyebrow cocked, flexing his muscles, intoxicated by the darkening of her eyes as she gazed at him. She shook her head, meeting his gaze, standing as tall as she could, seeing as he towered over her. “I need a favor.”

He closed the door, leaning back against it, thumbs catching in his belt hoops, pulling the jeans further down his hips. “Instead of breakfast? I could take you to dinner instead.”

“I want you to teach me,” she mumbled, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. She lifted her chin, glaring at him defiantly, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. She swallowed, nervously, licking her lips, adding, “Sex. I want you to teach me what you know about _rough_ sex.” Her cheeks darkened, her voice dropping into a whisper.

Was this what a stroke was? He went from provoked when he cornered her against the desk to full salute, causing his head to swim as if he had stood up too fast. The door handle creaked in his hand, his fist working hard to crush the metal, the bite of it in his palm kept him grounded. He couldn’t control the growl that reverberated through his chest, striding across the room in a couple long strides, his fingers itching to touch her, but he stopped right in front of her, a hairsbreadth separating them.

“Rough can mean a lot of things.” His voice was much hoarser than he was expecting, his throat dry from the lavender scent wafting from her hair. “What do you need me to teach you?”

“ _Everything_.”

She squirmed as Derek scrutinized her, allowing a distraction in the form of following the trail of hair that covered his chest, thinning out around his belly button, dipping down beneath the waistband of his jeans, pulled low enough to showcase his hip bones. He huffed out a laugh, pulling her attention back to him.

“Have you even had—”

“Yes!” she snarled, shoving him away from her—well, that was the intent, he didn’t budge, and she felt the hard muscles of his abdomen twitch against her fingers. She slid her fingers along his skin, running through the soft hair on his body, before ripping her hand away as if she were burned. “I just—I haven’t—" She heaved in a deep breath through her nose. “My skills are lacking—I don’t like not being good at something.”

He tilted her chin up with a finger, his lips hovering above hers, causing a hitch in her breathing. “I’m sure you have a lesson plan already?” His voice was soft, a whisper against her skin.

Her eyes closed, leaning into him as she breathed in the scent of musk and sawdust. “Not yet, but I can,” she replied, opening her eyes to see the smirk on his face. She scowled, crossing her arms under her chest, watching his gaze drop down to peer into her cleavage. “You were being mean,” she accused.

“No— _no_ ,” he growled, gripping her shoulders firmly, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her collarbone. “I just know you, Doc; you always had lists.”

Her gaze softened, nodding slightly. “We’ll start tomorrow night, my place.”

“What’s wrong with right now?” Before she could reply, he swooped in and took her lips in a kiss. His mouth moved against hers, coaxing her lips open so he could slide their tongues against each other, causing her to gasp. His right hand moved to grip her hair at the back of her head, tugging on it to tilt her face up towards him, his other hand sliding to grip the front of her neck, putting light pressure on her pulse. She moaned, her fingers scraping against his chest, before gripping his waistband in her fists, pulling him closer. She matched his pace, giving into him easily as he walked her backwards, roughly shoving her against the wood paneling. He pulled back, watching as she followed him forward; he kissed her again, then pulled back, taking his hands off her. She was a debauched beauty, looking up at him, her eyes unfocused, lips bruised, skin red from where his stubble rubbed against her. Her chest was heaving, an extra button having popped its hole on her shirt, showing the perfect swell of her breasts; he licked his lips and stepped forward, buttoning her blouse back up, fingers lingering on the swell of her breasts.

“Derek,” she whispered, making him close his eyes, nostrils flaring as he attempted to pull his control around him.

“I’ll meet you at the Duckling in the morning,” he growled, leaving abruptly. She nodded her head, blinking after him: her plan was starting to come together.

*

She sat in the diner nursing a cup of coffee, reading the article that her old coworker had published. She was so absorbed in the new information found about the female orgasm—her coworker had been a double board-certified gynecologist and neurosurgeon—that she didn’t notice the man sliding into the empty stool to her right. She finished the article, pulling her phone out and sending off a congratulatory text, pointing out the parts of the article that she found the most interesting. It was when she shoved her phone back into her purse that she finally noticed Derek seated beside her, waiting patiently.

“You’re late,” she murmured, moving to shove the medical journal into her bag after the phone.

“No, see: _I_ was on time, Doc. _You_ were being rude and reading at the table.” His grin was playful, as he lifted his hand at Edna, flagging her down for food. Eden sat there, stunned that he would remember her order; then her mind blanked when he turned his smile back on her. He spun her stool around so that he could trap her legs between his, his hands resting heavily against her knees, his thumbs sliding just beneath the hem of her pencil skirt to rub soothing circles into her skin. “You made a bold choice sitting at the counter, Stilinski: this conversation can _easily_ be overheard.”

He nodded his head towards Edna, who had the common decency to continue making coffee while listening. “You promised me breakfast, so here I am,” she laughed with a blush. She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his ear, letting out a gasp as his fingers gripped her knees tighter, and whispered, “I don’t need help with talking, Derek. _I need you to_ _fuck me_.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” he growled, and she pulled away with a loud bark of a laugh. He shifted forward his eyes dark, smoldering—a word she had never wanted to use, a romance-genre cliché—she felt her tummy jump, heat scorching down her spine to pool at her center. Everything around her vanished, all she could focus on was the intensity of his gaze and the memory of how his mouth had felt devouring hers last night. She wanted his hand back in her hair, around her throat, controlling her; she licked her lips, focused on his, leaning forward.

“ _Oh, look at you two_!” The squeal ripped them back into reality, Derek turning his head, Stiles flinching back violently. Lydia came flouncing over to them, wrapping her arms around each of their necks, pulling them into a hug. Her grin was huge, infectious, as she cackled giddily, clapping her hands together, when she pulled away. “It’s _just_ like when we were kids. You’ve always been closer than siblings!”

Derek grinned at her, the edges strained, not quite reaching his eyes, turning and leaning his elbows back against the counter, looking very much like a lounging bear. “Catching up. Forced my way into the clinic after an encounter with Greenburg and his baby mama.”

“Oh, Derek,” Lydia sighed, dramatically. “For _once_ keep it in your pants; Spaz is all grown up now, don’t need you corrupting her, too.”

“She prefers _Stiles_ ,” he said, coldly, his smirk dangerous. Stiles frowned at him, slapping him lightly in the shoulder.

“You look amazing, Lydia,” she said, turning back to her with a big smile. “How have things been?”

Lydia smiled, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “Well, Jacksy _finally_ convinced me to switch careers, so I’ve actually been looking for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” she giggled, swiping her hand at her gently. “I may not have gone to medical school, but I am _the_ _best_ assistant anyone could look for. Even helped make paperwork easier for Edna, here.”

“You’re a doll, Lydia,” the older woman rasped.

“Well, I _am_ in need of a receptionist,” Stiles murmured, pushing her lips out as she considered it. She was distracted by Derek turning towards her and staring at her lips, the memory of last night shooting through her mind. Lydia waited with baited breath; to hide a shiver, Stiles laughed, a grin on her face. “Can you start in an hour?”

The redhead gave her a sheepish grin, as she said, “I already did. You’re first patient wanted to see you in fifteen minutes, but I scheduled it for after your breakfast.”

“That’s-that’s amazing!” Stiles was in awe, all the stress of taking on patients slipped away, leaving her excited to practice medicine again. She straightened her spine, patting the stool beside her. “Do you want something to eat—”

“Goodness, no,” she laughed, turning on her heel and starting towards the door, tossing a wink to the matron of the diner. “Toodles!”

For the rest of their meal, Derek was brooding. He still gave her his full attention, made the butterflies in her stomach take off, but there was a kind of sadness that kept his brows furrowed. He paid for both of their meals, then walked her across the street to the clinic. He swung his leg over the seat of a black motorcycle, his hand reaching out and snagging her wrist, pulling her towards him.

“What have you been thinking about?” she asked, reaching out to swipe the hair off his forehead—even as kids, he always had a lock of hair that fell across his forehead.

He smirked, back to his old self, tugging the ends of her loose hair, causing her to lean forward. “I’m thinking about what I’m going to do to you tonight,” he rumbled, wrapping her hair in his fingers, still working on getting her closer to him. Heat rose in her cheeks, shooting down her spine, settling low in the pit of her stomach, his lips brushing gently against hers in a mockery of the way he consumed her last night. He pulled away with a groan, pressing the heel of his hand against the sudden bulge in his jeans. “Go inside, Stiles, be a good girl,” he murmured, lightly pushing her to move towards the door, spanking her lightly on the ass.

“But—”

“ _Now_.” The predatory growl in his voice sent molten lava through her veins, instantly drenching her panties as she scurried inside. The sound of his engine rumbling to life made her stop to look back, seeing him grin at her as he left her parking lot with a loud roar.


	3. Chapter 3

She was nervous.

She paced in her living room, running a trench in her area rug, tapping her finger against her lip. _He’s not coming_ , she scolded herself, raking her hand through her hair, untying the belt of her satin robe, heading back towards her bedroom. Then there was a solid knock against her door.

She whipped around, heart jumping sporadically in her chest. _He_ was _here._

Derek had knocked on the door, then turned around to survey the property. It was a quaint cottage-style house, with the cliché white picket fence around her yard. He turned around as the door opened and he froze in place. Stiles stood in the doorway, the light from behind her in the hallway backlighting her; but he could see _exactly_ what she was wearing—or lack thereof.

She wore a rose-pink satin robe that stopped at her knees, which was cute, but it was everything else that his mouth dry and his cock hard. He was used to women wearing extravagant lingerie that he would sooner rip off a woman than bother taking off carefully and the colors had always been either black or red. She wore a lacy white one-piece, just barely covering her breasts, perky despite the lack of support; the material was open down to her belly button, showing off the golden color of her tan, his gaze fell to the high black heels, showing off the muscles in her legs.

He was pulled from his daze by the sound of a car passing down the street and he shooed her back into the house, slamming and locking the door behind him. He sucked in a deep breath, pulling his control back around him, before turning to face her. She had closed her robe around herself, flustered, unable to meet his gaze. He moved towards her, shaking his head as he pulled her robe back open,

“No need to be embarrassed, let me see,” he murmured, sliding the robe off her shoulders to fall to the floor in a soft pool of material, his fingers continuing to brush across her skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He reached up and pulled the tie from her hair, flipping it around her shoulders, and stepped back to admire her. He took her fingers in his hand, lifting it above her head and getting her to spin slowly in place. He sucked in a sharp breath when she was facing away from him, taking in how the lingerie looked: the back was laced up like a corset, tied at her lower back in a perfect bow, the ends framing the perfect globes of her ass.

He stepped forward, pressing himself up against her backside, moving her hair away from her neck so he could lean in and kiss the column of her throat. The hitch in her breath made him smirk, nipping lightly at her pulse, he slid his right-hand around her waist, pulling her back against him, his left-hand reaching around and gripping her jaw in his large hand, tilting her head up so he could kiss her. She tried to turn into him, but he pinned her in place, his cock pressed against her spine; he deepened the kiss, running his tongue across the roof of her mouth, before pulling back from her and shoving her with his hands on her butt towards her bedroom.

“Go change, we’re going out,” he said, smoothly, control firmly in place, regardless of the raging hard-on he currently sported. She gaped at him, shocked by the sudden switch in attitude, she bent down to grab her robe, but his hand reached out and snagged her hair in his hand, stopping her, as he growled. “ _No_. You can’t rewrap a present.”

She started walking towards her bedroom, confusion evident as she looked over her shoulder at him. He groaned quietly to himself, cupping himself through his jeans as he watched her move away. The click of her heels on the hardwood matched the beating of his heart, needing to squeeze his bulge as he watched her hips sway with each step.

“Put something sexy on!” he called out to her, deciding on where he was taking her.

Stiles did not know whether she was embarrassed by Derek’s sudden change in attitude or turned on. Maybe a bit of both. She stripped out of her lingerie, changing into black panties and a bra; she grabbed a dress from her closet: your typical little black dress, but this one had a cut out showcasing the top of her breasts. When she stepped out of the bedroom, she flushed red, noticing the heated look in his eyes when he looked her over.

“I was under the impression that these types of things took place with less clothing,” she murmured, flipping her hair over her shoulder. He swooped in fingers wrapping neatly into her curls, his right-hand wrapping gently around her throat, tilting her head up and capturing her lips; she gasped into him, her knees buckling as his fingers squeezed against her throat. He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating through her body; he pulled away, crouching down in front of her. He slid the pads of his fingers up her legs, sliding under her skirt and up her thighs. She sucked in a breath as he caressed her thighs, the material of her skirt riding up; his large fingers brushed against her center, sending electricity through her body. He rubbed her gently through the fabric of her thin panties, building a fire within her, knowing that the material he rubbed so easily against her was now damp. Through the fabric, he pressed his finger inside her, causing her knees to shake, gripping the doorknob of her bathroom door to try and steady herself.

With his free hand, he pushed the skirt of her dress up, pushing her legs further apart, before leaning forward and licking a line up the crotch of her panties, causing her to let out a keening moan, the noise going straight to his cock. His fingers pushed the fabric aside just enough to dip his fingers within and slide inside her slick entrance. She clenched against the intrusion, letting out an unsteady breath; when his mouth closed over her clit, through the fabric and _sucked_ , he inserted a second finger into her. She almost fell then, her legs as shaky as a newborn filly, as he thrust his fingers into her, swirling inside and _crooking_ just right; she leaned forward, gripping his shoulders in her hands.

“ _Derek_ ,” she mewled, her chest heaving with every breath. He growled against her, shoving her panties aside so he could lick and suck her pussy without the fabric barrier; the sound of his name on her lips, in _that_ tone was _too_ much. Then she was clenching down on his fingers, her fingers like a vice grip on his shoulders as she came, her body shuddering and spasming as she gasped. He licked her gently, before pulling back and staring up at her. Her cheeks and nose were red, her hair mussed and wild, her amber eyes hooded and satisfied.

He grinned as he gripped the lace material of her panties, sliding them down her thighs, helping her step out of them. He grinned at the blush that crossed her face, as he slipped the panties into his pocket.

He stood back up, ignoring the shocked look on her face, he smirked at her, a wide grin. “We’re going out: my treat.”

He waved her towards the door with a flourish, pulling an easy laugh from her; along with the squirming butterfly feeling in her stomach—she kept forgetting that he always made her laugh.

*

Their small town had been built around a coal mine, but it had soon been abandoned when most of it collapsed back in the late thirties. The town had then turned to farming, which had resulted in the brewing of their own beer, which led Derek to be pulling into the parking lot before the original brewhouse. The last time Stiles had seen it, it had been a debilitated structure: rocks had been thrown through the large glass windows, graffiti had been spray painted on every conceivable surface—but what stood before her was an expertly kept redbrick building, restored to its original splendor. The large oak doors had been replaced with new varnished oak, along with the glass of the windows; it was _exactly_ how she had pictured it looked when it was at its original prime.

He took her arm, pulling her into step beside him, leading her to enter the building. When they stepped through the double doors, her jaw dropped; it was designed like a speakeasy, large oak round tables, dark mood lighting, all leading to a small stage where a gorgeous queen crooned in a velvety voice, the silver dress sparkling in the spotlight reflecting around the restaurant adding to the ambiance.

He led her to the one of the round tables, helping her sit, sliding into the booth beside her. “My company finished this place about a year ago now; they still brew their own beer,” he murmured, flagging down a server.

“You renovated this?” She was in awe, nodding her head as he ordered them both the house drink—a lavender infused honey mead; she flinched violently, almost jumping out of her skin when his large, warm hand landed on her bare knee. He was turned towards her, leaned in close, his fingers rubbing circles into her thigh. Their drinks hadn’t even arrived and she was feeling intoxicated: the mood of the restaurant, the soulful croon of the queen, his scent—a mixture of natural musk and sawdust—all of it made her head swim, and the heat dropped straight to her center.

He gripped her leg and her waist, sliding her closer to him; his lips brushing gently against hers. The hand on her thigh slid higher up her thigh, brushing the edges of her center; she gripped his wrist, her eyes wide as her gaze darted around the dark restaurant.

“Relax, Doc,” he rumbled, rubbing soothing circles into her skin. Her amber eyes were wide as they met his, but after a moment her head jerked once, her fingers loosening. His grin was both warm and heated with lust, his eyes flashing darkly, his fingers flicking gently across her nub. “ _Good girl_ ,” he whispered hotly, as she turned her head and gasped into his shoulder.

“Do you need a bit more time to decide on your meal, _Mister Hale_ ,” the server gushed his name out, her boobs having been pushed up higher than they were the first time she came around. Stiles’ fingers tightened against his wrist, mortified, unable to turn to face the server; Derek just smiled warmly, asking for a few moments longer.

He turned his head and nipped at the pulse point on her neck, growling low in his chest, “Good girls do as they’re told, _kitten_.” She shivered against him, her fingers loosening again, choking on a gasp as he teased her entrance, sliding the tip of his middle finger inside her. She spread her legs apart, allowing him more access, feeling the heat shock through her system as he groaned against her neck, pushing his finger further in. “ _Good girl_ ,” he sighed again, pressing a wet kiss against her throat.

He crooked his finger inside of her, hearing a soft growl escape her throat. Then the server was back, asking if they were ready to order, and she clenched against his finger, teeth biting into his shoulder, smothering her cry as she came in his arms. The grin spreading his lips was giddy and satisfied, letting her ride out the aftershocks before pulling his fingers out. Turning towards the server, he ordered their dinner—the salmon for her and a steak for him, just how they always ordered—as the server left, he placed his finger in his mouth, sucking her juiced off his digit. She watched him, her eyes dark with her dilated pupils, her cheeks flushed pink; he kissed her, deeply and lazily, taking his time. This time, she reached up gripping his shirt in her hands, pulling him closer to her; he let her take control of the kiss, pleased with how desperate she was for him. If she was this receptive for everything he had in store to “teach” her, he was going to have a _lot_ of fun.

*

“Besides this _fancy_ speakeasy, what else have you renovated?” she asked, as they finished up their meal. Other than the wild ride of him fingering her before dinner, the rest of it had been a nice time for them to catch up. She took a sip of her water, noticing that he had been watching her eating, his entire plate cleared already.

“I generally do new houses, but I take pet projects like this one,” he gruffed, embarrassed by her interest in his work. “I—um—I renovated the clinic.”

Her eyes widened, a grin breaking out on her face. “I _love_ everything that you’ve done! It’s _exactly_ how I would have wanted it set up!”

He grinned at her, starting to feel the guilt he had experienced back when she was a teenager; the feelings he had for her, on top of the lust, surged through him, taking hold of all of his senses. He paid the bill for their meal, leading her back out to the parking lot, his fingers entwined with hers. He crowded her up against the side of the car, his hand in his hair as he took her mouth with his; she had lemon sauce from the salmon on her lips, mixing in with a taste that was solely her.

She couldn’t believe how easy it was with him—when she was younger he had been more interested in her school work than her body, more likely to leave her reading on her porch swing when a newly single mother jogged by—this new experience was something she had hoped for back then, but never expected too happen. Without her panties, she was afraid she was going to drip down her leg, with the amount of moisture he wrung from her body; she moaned into his mouth as he hooked his hands under her bottom, lifting her up so that he could hold her between the car door and his body, slotting his bulge against her center.

“Doctor Stilinski?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of short, I promise that they will never be shorter than this, and I most definitely promise that this will be the shortest chapter

It was like ice water had been dumped down her back, more so when she realized why the voice sounded so familiar. Derek let her slide down his front, to place her feet against the ground, keeping as much contact between them as possible. He stepped aside, leaning casually back against the car, looking at the guy in front of them. Stiles’ entire body had gone rigid, her fingers still gripped tightly in Derek’s shirt, her knuckles turning white; her heart was stuttering wildly in her chest.

She forced a smile, taking in the image of one of her old condo neighbors in San Francisco. He had been a tall lanky man, his shoulders hunched forward, his messy hair was greasy, brown eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. The man in front of her, however, was what she thought he could look like if he took care of himself: he was quite handsome, new clothes, proper hygiene, a haircut that suited him, and contact lenses.

“Matt?” The uneasy feeling she had always had when he was close to her was far more intense now, possibly because the predatory smile on his face caused a powerful surge of terror to freeze her muscles. She felt Derek pull her hand from his shirt, then twine their fingers together giving them a little squeeze. She felt her heart jump in her throat as she watched Matt’s eyes focus on their hands, his face darkening with a sickening expression.

“Who are you?” His voice was dark, the sneer that curled his lip lasting a fraction of a second, but it caused Derek to stand up to his full height, slightly shorter than her old neighbor, but much larger in size. He pulled her arm so that it crossed over her chest as he rested his arm around her shoulders, pulling her stiffened body into his side.

“Her boyfriend,” he growled, sensing the unease in her. The rage that flared across Matt’s face had her knees weak because all she wanted to do was run.

“I’d love to catch up, Stiles,” Matt said, ignoring the comment, focusing back on her. “It’s been a while.”

Her smile was strained, attempting to swallow the knot in her throat. “Yeah,” she laughed, the sound hollow, her voice shaking. “What brings you here?”

“Work,” he said, quickly, just before she finished her question.

She looked back at Derek, the panic evident on her face; he stepped between her and Matt, having opened her door. He helped her step inside, his gaze never leaving this new man; he shut the door, spinning to rounding on this “Matt”. They both glowered at each other, until Matt finally turned on his heel and went into the restaurant. Derek watched him walk away, before he got into the driver’s seat of Stiles’ car.

The atmosphere in the car was tense, she watched Derek from the corner of her eye, seeing that pulse point jump in his jaw; his hands tightened on the wheel, the structure creaking as he twisted his grip. He took a deep breath in, opened his mouth, and shut it again. He let out a growl; it reverberated through the car, chasing away her fear and filling her with heat. She turned to him, reaching across the center seat, touching his thigh hesitantly. He swerved the car to the side of the road, slamming it into park; he whipped his seatbelt off, tearing hers off as well. He sealed his mouth over hers, devouring her in an almost violent embrace; he snarled into her mouth as she moaned, breaking away to nip at her neck. Her hands were on his belt, fumbling with the buckle as she hastily tried to undo it; whimpering as it got stuck.

He gripped her wrists in his hands stopping her easily. His eyes were closed, his nostrils flaring, as he breathed in her lavender scented hair; he took another deep breath in, before he opened his green eyes to look into her amber ones. Her pupils were dilated, her lips swollen and bruised by his. He could see that running into her old neighbor had frazzled her, she needed this control. He moved her hands, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. She glanced down into his lap, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, reaching forward to pull his cock out of his jeans. She shifted backwards, gripping him firmly in her hand, leaning forward, and sliding her tongue across his slit. He gripped the steering wheel in his left-hand, his right hand gripping the head support of the passenger seat, hearing the leather crunch.

She hesitated a moment, then swallowed him down whole, the tip of his cock reaching the back of her throat. He groaned loudly, taken completely by surprise by her lack of gag reflex. As her tongue swirled around his member, her head bobbing up his length, he wondered who had trained her to take cock in such a way; then he thought about whether she had been taught back in high school, and whether if he had taken the plunge, would he have been able to teach her. He thrust up into her mouth, growling as she took it in stride as she herself moaned around his cock, vibrating through him. Then her phone started ringing causing her to growl around him; she sucked once more on him hard, pulling back. He gripped the back of her neck, thrusting up into her mouth; she took it easily, her throat muscles clenching around him—then he was coming down her throat with a shout.

She pulled back, swiping her hand through her hair, pulling it out of her face, swallowed then answered the phone, voice husky, but otherwise unaffected. If he hadn’t just came, that alone would have sent him over the edge. He stared at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips; then her face became serious, Doctor Stilinski coming out—he tucked himself back into his pants, and did himself up, putting the car in drive and heading towards the clinic. She patted his arm, mouthing “Hospital” at him, and he changed direction.

She hung up the phone, pulling an elastic from her purse and pulling her hair into a ponytail. “My father is in the hospital—he was attacked at home.”

*

Stiles shed the anxiety and distress easily, heels clicking on the linoleum of the hospital floor, Derek trailing behind her, as she made her way to the front desk. Her tone was clipped as she spoke with the nurse at registration, before they were being buzzed through into the wards. As they walked down the hall towards the room her father was in, she pulled her brown hair into a messy bun, tendrils of ringlets falling out of the tie. The expression on her face was one he had seen many times when she was studying for midterms or tests—a mixture of determination and cold stoicism. This was Doctor Stilinski MD, general surgeon. She hesitated a moment outside of his room, before knocking and stepping inside, Ryan following behind her.

Noah Stilinski had been Police Chief in his prime, retiring when Claudia, his wife, had passed. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was a big man, a lot of personality and a lot of good humor; his hair had been black, his eyes a bright blue. Stiles stopped short as the panic seized her, as she looked down at his broken form. Bruises, blood and cuts covered his face and skin, a tube in his throat helping him to breathe. She took a moment to look him over, cataloguing the damage done to him; when she reached for his chart, she was proud that she didn’t tremble. Flipping through the pages of his chart, she let out a relieved sigh.

Most of the damage was superficial, but he had had a reaction to the pain meds that the hospital had initially used—hence, the breathing tube—but he would make a full recovery, no problem. Her vision blurred as tears of relief pooled, she wiped them away, embarrassed, remembering that Derek was with her. “He’ll be fine,” she sniffed, putting his chart back down, walking around the bed, and gripping her father’s fingers in her tiny hand. “You’ll be fine, dad. We’ll get you through this, no problems.”

The on-call doctors had assured her that he was in good hands, but if something were to happen, they would reach out to her. Derek drove her back home, glancing at her every few seconds to see she was lost in thought, her eyebrows furrowed. He startled her when he opened her car door, helping her out and walking her up the steps to her front door. He didn’t know what to say, lost for words at how the night had turned out—he felt for her, Noah was a great man.

“Derek,” her soft voice caught his attention, and when he gazed down at her, her lip was caught up in her teeth, her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled with her words. She swallowed, before glancing up to catch his eye. “Come inside. Please?”

He nodded his head, following her inside, before she slammed his back into the door, fumbling with his belt. He choked out a laugh, pulling his shirt over his head, and dropping it carelessly to the floor, before reaching down and helping her with the buckle of his belt. Once the belt was undone, he stilled her hands, pulling her to him so he could devour her mouth; his tongue swept lazily against hers, hearing the choked off sound of her moan.

“What do you need?” he breathed, pulling back from her a little.

She looked up at him, her doe-eyes wide. She licked her lips, shedding her insecurity with a shaky breath, her shoulders going back, pushing her breasts out towards him, a giddy smirk pulling her lips when she saw his gaze focus on them. She moved backwards, pulling her dress off and letting it pool on the floor without caring, reaching between her breasts to unhook her bra, letting it fall from her fingers. She twirled a ringlet in her finger, smiling coyly up at him.

“ _Teach me_ ,” she husked, watching his eyes dart back up to her face, after roaming over her naked form. She took his hand in hers, pulling him with her as she walked backwards towards her bedroom. She repeated it as they crossed the threshold of her room, her stomach fluttering as he sucked in a breath. He cursed when she slid to her knees, pulling his jeans down the rest of the way. He was already hard, stiffening even more when she wrapped her fingers around his length, pumping his shaft a couple times. She looked up at him again, her pupils so dilated her eyes were almost black. She said it again, her voice low and sultry, “ _Teach me_.”

And, _gods_ , was he going to.


	5. Chapter 5

He swallowed hard, stroking his fingers gently over her cheek, taking in the sight of her on her knees before him, her fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cock, lazily stroking him. He had thought about this so many times, every time he sat with her on her porch swing when she was sixteen, thought about her full lips wrapped around him—it was what always sent him running from her. Now— _now_ —she kneeled in front of him and it was better than he could ever imagine. A deep rumbling growl started in his chest, but he was gentle when he brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, feeling a shiver run down his spine, when her tongue danced out to swipe it.

“ _Open_.” His voice was so deep, he was surprised she heard him through the growl. The hitch in her breath, had him pressing his thumb harder against her lip—he had to be careful with this: she wanted to learn. He was going to teach her— _train_ her—and he was going to enjoy every second of it. “Open your mouth,” he repeated, and sighed in relief when she complied.

He gripped himself at the base of his shaft, holding the tip out for her to take into her open mouth. When her mouth closed around the head, he had to reach up and grip the frame of the door, steadying himself with it. When she swallowed him down whole, taking him straight to the back of her throat, still no hint of a gag reflex, he ripped part of the frame off, feeling it shred in his hands. She pulled back off of him, startled, and he gasped out.

“I’ll fix it later,” he snarled, feeling so completely on edge. He had tried to temper his tone, but when she took him back down her throat, he steadied himself on the sides of the doorframe, looking down at her, and watching as his cock spread her lips obscenely.

When she had first pulled him from his pants, she was stunned at the size of him. He was average in length, but he was uncut and he was _thick_ , and she very much wanted it in her mouth, she wanted to _prove_ that she could take him completely. When he had ripped the wood from the doorframe with his bare hands, and snarled at her in that tone, she should have been afraid—but it was _Derek_ , and it was _hot_. She hummed peacefully, as she swirled her tongue around his throbbing shaft, loving the feel of him in her mouth. She felt his fingers wrap in the hair at the back of her head, and tug gently; she pulled off his cock with a soft _pop_ , looking up at him, sweetly.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. Her eyes widened a little, her chest rising and falling quickly as she panted, wondering if maybe there was a pool of her juices beneath her. “I’m going to— _fuck_. Let me, Stiles.”

She nodded vigorously, taking him back into her mouth, and stopped. She looked up at him beneath her lashes, and he cursed, thrusting gently with his hips. She gave no resistance, took him so beautifully, so perfectly. He told her so. “So good, kitten. Taking me so well.” He sucked in a breath when she hummed, her eyes closing, her hands coming up to cup his balls in her hand, caressing his sack. “I want to cum down your throat, watch you swallow me down.” He had been thrusting into her mouth, farther and farther, testing to see if her gag reflex really was gone—so far, it was completely nonexistent. “But, your going to get up, and your going to go kneel on the bed, arms behind your back.”

She moaned around his cock, and he held her in place with a hand wrapped in her hair, and thrust down her throat a couple times, before pulling back and cocking an eyebrow at her. She stood up, her coltish awkwardness still there, but to him, it was sexier than anything he had ever seen. She stumbled towards the bed, before crawling over the mattress, until she did as he ordered. With her arms behind her back, she tossed her hair behind her shoulder, looking at him with a light flush over her skin. He mourned the pale skin she used to have, where her blushes would make her a deep red, flushing throughout her entire body. But seeing her blush so prettily was just as good, if not better.

He watched her as she kneeled there, gaze lowered, looking at him, but not quite. He kicked his pants and boxers the rest of the way off, smirking as he saw her glance over to him to take him in; he smirked, bending to his pants to pull his wallet out of the pocket, pulling the condom from it and putting it on. He watched as her tongue swiped out to lick her lips, before sucking it between her teeth, before chancing a glance up to his eyes. He moved towards the bed, kneeling on the bed behind her, brushing his fingers down her arms, watching the goosebumps break out across her skin. He brushed his right hand across her stomach, feeling the muscles there twitch, before trailing the tips of his fingers up towards her breast, gently taking her nipple between his digits, testing the waters. He pinched it, and felt her shudder against him; he smirked, realizing how responsive she was. He played with her nipple while his left hand trailed across her stomach, down to her core, brushing against her clit causing her to tense up and let out a moan.

Stiles was more turned on than she had ever been in her entire life. Derek’s broad chest and abs against the line of her back was like fire to her skin, his palms and fingers like brands. When the hand on her breast moved up to press against her throat, squeezing against her pulse points, she felt boneless, and when he dipped his fingers inside her, she started begging. “Please _, Daddy._ ”

They both froze. She was mortified, he was _very_ turned on. He huffed a laugh against her neck, smothering it with a nip at the crease of her shoulder and neck. He continued thrusting his fingers inside her, her frozen mortified body softening against him.

“Say it again,” he breathed. She sucked in a breath, letting out a drawn-out moan as she clenched around his fingers.

“Daddy, _please_ ,” she gasped out. He growled against her neck, his fingers pressing into her pulse points on her neck, the choked off gasp she made, going straight to his cock. He shoved her forward, pulling her ass up so that her back curved in the most beautiful arc. He used both of his hands to knead her ass—he had known her ass was amazing, but it was just obscene how perfect it was.

“Please what, kitten? What do you want?” She groaned, wriggling her hips to grab his attention, but he just smirked. His hand rubbed against the skin of her ass, thinking about how it would look marked red from his palm—not today, not this session, she was still far too new to this, he didn’t want to scare her. She heaved in a breath, her body trembling with need. She had pulled her arms by her head, her fingers clenched tightly in the bedspread, pushing her hips back into him. She whined when he angled his hips away from her, mewling when he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back, a hand on her lower back to keep her in that perfect arch. “Use your words, kitten.”

Derek grinned, as she tried to form words: she had dropped down into subspace so easily and so prettily. He waited patiently for her, his fingers still sliding in and out of her at a leisurely pace. She huffed out a breath, her teeth clenched, lips curled in a sneer.

“ _Everything_ ,” she snarled. And then she started babbling. “ _Gods_ , I want your cock. I want it fucking me so hard into this mattress you put me through the ground. I want you to— _fuck_ —Daddy, _please_. _Pleasepleaseplease_.” She went back to making non-verbal noises, fucking herself back onto his fingers.

He grinned, pulling his fingers out of her, hearing the drawn-out desperate whine she made, before lining himself up, sliding just the head of his cock into her. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, sliding slowly into her. He groaned, sucking in a breath as he finally bottomed out. She was scrabbling at the fabric of her bedspread, mewling wantonly as her entire body shook, her head falling forward to dig into the mattress. He gripped her hips in his hands, marveling at how tiny she was in his hands, how easily she could break. He pulled out far enough that just the tip of his cock was inside her, then slid slowly back in, feeling how tight and hot she was around him, her walls fluttering, and he choked on a surprised laugh when he realized how quickly she was going to cum.

“If you cum without permission, you will be _punished_ , kitten,” he growled, thrusting harder into her. She choked on a moan, feeling white hot heat scorch up her spine, before she clenched down hard on him and came instantly, with a high pitched keen. He laughed, a low, dark thing, speeding his thrusts up, prolonging her orgasm. He knew exactly how he wanted to punish her right now. His palm struck her ass, the slap loud in the room, startling a gasp from her. He pulled out of her, gripping her hips in his hands and flipped her easily onto her back, sliding into her, and covering her body with his own, tilting her hips up for a different angle. “Rule still applies. You ask me to cum,” he husked into her ear, hearing her breath hitch.

She let out a long whine, her fingers gripped hard onto his biceps, meeting every single one of his thrusts. Then her amber eyes got wide, her lips trembling, fingers spazzing against his arms, her breath stuttering out of her, and then she was babbling again, “Daddy, please. Please, I-I—please, Daddy!”

“Do you need to cum, kitten?” She cried out desperately, thrashing against the bed, broken words and noises spilling from her lips. He grinned. “I think you can hold out a bit longer.”

She thrashed her head side to side, clenching down around him, letting out a broken sob. Tears were brightening her eyes, her gaze never leaving his, her fingers biting into his arms. “ _Derek_ ,” she moaned his name, tilting her head back and baring her neck to him. His hips jerked, stuttering as he took in that look, heard his name— _in that tone_ —he gripped her hips, harder than intended, biting down on her offered neck. “Cum, kitten,” he gasped out, feeling his own orgasm pending. Then she was clenching harder around him, letting out high-pitched moans and whines as she came, pulling him right along with her.

Derek sat back, pulling her with him, so that she lay sprawled across his chest. He stroked a hand up her back, listening to the small purr-like noises that she made, settling in to wait for her to emerge from the subspace. It took about an hour for her to be able to sit up a bit, to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Is it always this intense?” she asked, dropping her gaze, as she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. She was still frowning, her eyebrows drawn together, her lips pursed together.

“Not always,” he gruffed, sliding the arm not stroking up her back under his head. “I’ve never had a Sub drop so far into subspace before. You’d have let me do anything wouldn’t you?” She squinted up at him, the frown morphing into a glower, until she saw the teasing smile stretching his lips, and she let out a snort, slapping gently against his chest. He chuckled a moment, and asked, “With a little training, you would become a perfect Sub, Doc.”

She frowned again, her eyes squinting as she tried to read him. “What happened to kitten?”

He smiled, wrapping a hand in her hair and pulling her down to kiss her. It was slow and lazy, sliding his tongue along the roof of her mouth, before pulling back, his fingers brushing through her hair. “The same thing that happened to you calling me Daddy.”


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles reared back, shame igniting her face in a flush, pulling away from him as quickly as she could, before she felt him tense up, and grab her, restraining her movements. She realized he was still inside her, still very much hard, and she froze, glaring at the wall where her headboard rested. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, her nostrils flared as she tried to calm her breathing; he held her left wrist in his large hand, his other one sliding up her back to grip her hair in his hands.

“Look at me,” he whispered, voice calm; her nose twitched towards a sneer, as she ground her teeth together, refusing to listen. He growled, a deep rumble, letting go of her wrist so that he could wrap his other hand in her hair with his other, tilting her head down to look at him. “ _Look at me_.”

She met his gaze hesitantly, her eyebrows still furrowed, still scowling deeply. When he held her gaze securely, he let his right hand move to her cheek, caressing her skin gently, swiping his thumb across her bottom lip, loosening her lips from the curled sneer. He leaned up, abdomen bunching as he kissed her gently, relaxing her completely, sagging against him, her body trembling.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, shivering as he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing soothing circles into her skin.

“Subdrop,” he answered, simply. He rumbled deep in his chest, an almost-noise that settled in her bones, comforting. “It’s like—” he thought for a moment, before settling on a way to describe it. “—like an adrenaline drop. Your adrenaline was going so high from the scene, that when it ended, it dropped so abruptly it left you with confusing emotions of shame and guilt.”

She nodded her head in understanding, then nuzzled into his chest, feeling her emotions settle back down to normal levels. Then she felt just absolutely exhausted. She opened her mouth to say something—but then everything went black.

Derek watched her sleeping in his arms, hearing the soft snuffle snore she made, that sounded endearingly like a purr. He thought over the night, from the moment he picked her up to now; in any fantasy he could not have seen her drop so fantastically quick into subspace. He thought about how long they could have been doing this, how he could have trained her _just_ for hi—she shifted in her sleep, and he felt himself harden inside her. She made a soft mewl, before swiveling her hips against his, taking him deeper inside her. He lay there frozen in shock, wondering what the precedence was here—then her hand slid up his chest, to touch the scruff on his cheeks, lifting her head to look at him with surprisingly coherent eyes.

She smiled so sweetly at him, grinding her hips down against him, forcing the pent-up breath from his lungs. Then she was sitting up, her hands resting gently against his stomach as she lifted herself up, and then back down in a slow, easy way. He let her have this—for just a moment—watching as she leaned back, baring her entire front to his gaze, resting her hands against his thighs as she moved against him. His hands brushed slowly up her thighs, before gripping her hips in a firm grip.

Stiles let out a relieved sigh as she rode him, taking her time building up the heated tension in her body. When his hands found her hips, she let out a soft moan, sliding her hands down her chest, to hold his against her. She looked down at him, seeing a small smile curling his lips, his eyes dark as he watched her. Then her world tilted as he flipped them over so that she lay on her back, her legs spread and bracketing him in as he thrust into her; the drawn out thrust went right up her spine, causing her toes to curl as her back arched. She reached up and gripped his bicep in one hand, her other trailing up to grip at his shoulder, using his body to leverage herself to move with him. She was letting out soft whines and whimpers, feeling her body tense as she got closer and closer to her climax—he let out soft pants as he watched her fall apart.

Her noises were becoming more desperate, her nails digging into his skin, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked up at him, expression pleading. Her fingers dug into him just on this side of pain and she came with a drawn-out moan, her entire body tensing up. She continued to move against him, wanting him— _needing_ him—to go over the edge with her, _because_ of her.

“ _Derek_ ,” she whimpered. He grinned at her then, hooking his hands under her thighs and pushing her legs up, almost folding her in half, her ankles anchored on his shoulders. She gasped, her hands dropping to the bed to grip in the sheets, the new angle causing his cock to go even deeper, a feeling she had never experienced before. She shoved her hands under her ass, tilting her hips ups with the movement and screamed out another orgasm, the feeling so intense she started trembling.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groaned, as his entire body shuddered as he came. It was the first time he had cum so quickly since the first year of him having sex; it was also the first time he had felt like his brain had come out of his dick as well.

She dropped her legs from his shoulders, feeling giddy and light-headed when she felt him pulsing inside her, the growl he let out as he shuddered above her the hottest sound she had ever heard. He had collapsed against her, keeping his weight from fully crushing her by planking above her, burying his face in her neck and mouthing at the skin there. After a moment of rebooting his brain, he pulled out of her, pulling the condom off, tying it, then dropped it into the garbage can by her bed.

“Stay the night?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. He froze, his entire body stiffening, before he settled back on the bed, woodenly. She frowned, confused by his sudden awkwardness. And then it dawned on her: “You’ve always left after sex.”

It wasn’t an accusation, so he decided to relax. He shrugged, shifting so that his head rested on his arm, and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her easily into his chest.

“Never came up,” he admitted.

She frowned for a fraction of a second, then her expression eased itself into a contented smirk, burying it in her arms that her head had been pillowed on. She looked over at him, nothing below her eyes visible, the skin around them crinkled as she smiled at him. He leaned down and grabbed the sheets, pulling them over their naked bodies, manhandling her—she will never admit to the squeak she made—so that he could spoon behind her. With the feel of his heartbeat strong against her back, she fell asleep quickly and easily.

Derek woke up the next morning, disoriented. He wasn’t in his bed, he was somewhere else and immediately he sat bolt upright. Then he heard a familiar humming coming through the closed door and he instantly relaxed, as the memories came flooding back. He had been hard when he woke up, a common enough occurrence, but the surge of heat he felt at remembering what had happened last night had him at full attention.

He noticed that she had folded his clothes neatly on the bench at the foot of her bed, but he ignored them in favor of finding the delightful vixen that he would snare again. He opened her bedroom door, which lead right into the kitchen, and he took in her petite form as she put together some coffee. He watched her for a moment, taking in her appearance: she was wearing an outfit similar to the one she had been wearing when he had shown up to the clinic with a bullet wound—the fitted skirt hugged her curves to perfection, the light pink blouse she wore complimented her golden tan.

He strode across the room, purposefully, not even bothering to be quiet about it, and she started to turn a small smile on her lips until she noticed his state of undress, her eyes widening, her mouth opening to speak when he gripped her hips, lifted her onto the counter and took her mouth in a searing kiss. He swallowed her gasp, then he was growling as she wrapped her fingers in his hair; she let out a whine when she couldn’t spread her legs, and he chuckled darkly as he roughly shoved the skirt up towards her hips. She reached down and gripped him in her soft hands, tearing her lips from his so that she could speak.

“I have half an hour,” she whispered, huskily, stroking him in time with her panting breaths.

“Then we better make this quick,” he rasped, ripping the condom packet he had grabbed and allowing her to slide it onto him.

As soon as it was on, he pulled her from her perch on the countertop, swung her around to the island and bent her upper body over it, sliding into her quick and easy. She scrabbled at the countertop, instantly overwhelmed by the feel of him inside her, stretching up onto the tips of her toes so that she could take him deeper, earning a satisfied growl from behind her. He spread her cheeks apart, staring down at where they connected, a possessive sound ripping through him as he watched her clench around him. The soft pants and desperate moans she made as she pushed back against him spurred him on, angling his thrusts _just_ so, until she held him in a vice-grip as she screamed out her orgasm. One thrust—two—three, and he was coming right along with her, thrusting lazily as he rode it out.

Stiles lay sprawled out across the island, her hair a messy halo as she panted, body rising and falling with every breath. He slapped her ass playfully, as he pulled out of her, hearing her let out a low growl causing him to chuckle. When she stood back up straight, he was intrigued with how she managed to look so boneless as she straightened; he watched her look into the metallic side of her toaster and fix her hair, as he tied the condom off and threw it out. Then she checked her watch, and grimaced, her eyes wide as she glanced over at him.

He nodded at her and immediately went to put on his clothes. When he exited her room again, he heard voices at her front door and he went to investigate, curious as to who would show up at—he glanced at his watch and groaned internally—seven in the morning. He watched her, until he was consumed by a possessive rage he had never felt before when he noticed she was _flirting_ with whoever was at the door. As he rounded the corner he froze instantly. _Of course_ , he thought darkly as he took in the form of Jackson Whitmore, in his uniform as he smiled down at Stiles.

Then Jackson looked up and their eyes met. A frown instantly dulled the sparkle in his eye—how _Disney_ was this guy, really? He groused to himself as he frowned back, folding his arms. Stiles noticed the tension and turned to look at him, flushing deeply.

“Whitemore,” Derek rumbled, stepping towards the door.

“Fancy seeing you here, Hale,” he countered, the fake smile he always wore plastered on his face. “A bit early, don’t you think?”

“I could say the same about you, _Constable_ ,” The growl wasn’t even remotely hidden, neither was the scowl that drew his eyebrows together even further.

Stiles groaned internally, as she saw the stand-off start. Her mind was scattered being surrounded by so much testosterone, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, her mind as scattered as it had been back in high school, unable to think of a single thing to say.

“Stiles asked me to come look at her doorframe,” Derek said, hollowly as he watched her drown in her mind, a tightness in his chest he couldn’t put a name to making him feel empty. “It was the only time I had available.” He added the last part with a noncommittal shrug, easing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, refusing to let _Whitemore_ see his hands clench into fists.

Jackson nodded, seeming to take it as fact, before turning back to Stiles, that megawatt smile beaming down on her. “If you need anything, Stiles, I’ll be more than happy to help. Your father is a pillar of this community; we’ll find out who did it.”

She nodded at him, flushing red again, inhaling sharply when his hand came forward to brush her hair behind her ear. She murmured her thanks shyly, watching him leave before she turned towards the brooding dark cloud that was Derek Hale behind her. When he felt her gaze on him, he instantly schooled his expression so it showed nothing but cold indifference as he watched the police cruiser drive away.

“So, still after Whitmore, eh?” He was pleased at how indifferent his voice sounded. But then he saw her flinch, and it was like cold water had been dumped over him, the cold seeping into his bones. “ _He_ ’s why you want to learn.”

She refused to meet his eyes, and he was thankful because the realization had him closing his own eyes as pain roared through him. He opened his eyes when he heard her soft exhale, watching as she straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair out of her face. “Yes,” she said, calmly, finally meeting his eyes. The defiance in hers was a shock, but the way she looked at him—the soft demand to turn her away because of this, the way she _expected_ him to turn her away—eased something in him. Whether she knew it or not, she wanted _his permission_.

The grin that pulled his lips was more a baring of his teeth than anything else, hungry and dark and predatory. She was his, regardless of her knowledge of the fact, and he was going to make her see it.

“Clear your afternoon,” he said, nonchalantly. She looked at him dumbfounded, her eyebrows furrowing, crossing her arms under her chest, bringing his gaze down to the valley her cleavage made, her buttons undone just enough for him to see the tops of her breasts. “If you’re going to learn, then there are lessons we need to prepare for.”


End file.
